


fast forward to forever

by fkaps2point0



Series: i don’t know how to be happy, but if i'm with you i think it’s possible [2]
Category: Start-Up (Korea TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-03
Updated: 2020-12-03
Packaged: 2021-03-10 02:13:34
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,646
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27857369
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fkaps2point0/pseuds/fkaps2point0
Summary: in which Dal-mi discovers the secrets being kept from her by the people she loves most earlier than she lets onalternatively: an AU where Ji-pyeong gets a fighting chance
Relationships: Han Ji Pyeong/Seo Dal Mi
Series: i don’t know how to be happy, but if i'm with you i think it’s possible [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2009962
Comments: 56
Kudos: 151





	fast forward to forever

**Author's Note:**

> i’m trying something new here! this story reads non-linear, so all out of order, within the show’s timeline as well as post series (or how i’m going to imagine it goes down haha)
> 
> if you notice that the settings and conversations taking place slightly deviate from canon, i will acknowledge now that this fic is pure indulgence and wasn’t really written with any foresight lol

one. (then, revelations)

Dal-mi often imagined how her and Nam Do-san would finally find each other. 

She had come up with hundreds of romantic, straight out of a movie happen chances and encounters over the years, subdued as she grew older, but hopeful nonetheless.

Would they meet by chance, bumping into one another at a train station, the contents of his briefcase or her purse spilling onto the platform, their hands brushing against one another as they rushed to pick things up, slowly making eye contact and recognizing each other, even though they had no reason to? Or would it be planned, with one of them reaching out to the other subsequent to a coincidental social media search, arranging to meet at the birdhouse near the cherry blossom tree where their story began?

Dal-mi thought about it all the time, choosing to daydream about bumping into Do-san on a crowded street when her grandmother scolded her for wandering around outside after dark. Imagined asking a random stranger for directions after moving to Seoul, only to realize she was eye to eye with her first love, distracting herself from her dad's persistently deepening dark circles, exhaustion seeping out of his pores when he came back home from yet another unsuccessful meeting with a potential investor and a bank account that continued to deplete day after day.

Then, as time passed, and she grew older, her go-to choice of daydreaming scenarios had faded into near oblivion, dwelling in the recesses of her brain like a fond memory she'd grow nostalgic for, promptly getting a reality check as her manager plopped another set of grunt work atop her desk.

However, of all the fantasies and made up situations her mind had conjured up over the years, she never imagined the one that would actually came true, that the first time she encountered Do-san in the flesh, would be during the middle of a sweltering summer day at Halmeoni's hot dog stand, clothes clinging to her like a second skin after missing the bus and walking back underneath the blazing hot afternoon sun to help out at the kiosk. 

She hears a familiar voice first, only the back of the source’s head visible from a distance, as he chatted with Halmeoni at one of the tables set up around the stall. Halmeoni, who to Dal-mi's knowledge at least, didn't frequently socialize with men close to her granddaughter's age, certainly not in the casual manner of conversation taking place right now.

"Nam Do-san, that guy, he’s a total loser.”

Her initial reaction, after getting over the shock of seeing Han Ji-pyeong eating a corn dog and conversing with her grandmother as if he’d been doing it his whole life, is being offended on Do-san’s behalf. 

“You can stop now,” her grandmother says after a beat, “I’ll tell Dal-mi that I lied, that Do-san isn’t real.”

If this was a movie, right about now the female protagonist would discover a life altering secret that would change her world forever, whether because of a lying boyfriend or a backstabbing friend.

Contrary to a film however, where a pivotal moment like this would spurn action and drive the movie forward, Dal-mi felt as if this was the note at which her bittersweet screenplay would wind to a close, heavy on the side of bitter.

The letters that were instrumental in getting her through one of the darkest years of her life turning out to be a lie would have been a great basis for a villain origin story, she muses.

She can’t help it. If she starts taking it seriously, dissecting every word penned across paper that she treasured for fifteen years, she’ll break. 

Dal-mi is surprised her grandmother has managed to conceal it as well as she has so far. More than a decade worth of cover ups and blatant lies, so easily hidden from someone who lived under the same roof as her. What comes as bigger surprise is the fact that she has managed to hold back on confronting them at the table as they spoke. Did they not care that anyone within a mile radius could probably hear them?

"Don't worry Halmeoni," Dal-mi overhears Ji-pyeong say, which was a surprise in of itself (after all, who was Mr. Han to refer to her grandmother so endearingly?), "I'll make sure Dal-mi doesn't get hurt."

It’s enough to make her halt in her tracks, had she not already been reeling. 

Why would he care if she got hurt? It certainly didn't occur to him back at In-jae's networking party.

She noticed Ji-pyeong before he sidled up alongside Do-san, the serious looking man in a pristine white suit, followed around by whispers of other partygoers, a new person approaching him as soon as the last left after a brief conversation, one that she noticed was almost always cut off prematurely by him. His confident and cool demeanor as he made his way through to the table Do-san and her stood by, the way he propped Do-san and Samsan Tech up like they were the next big thing since Google.

It occurs to her, that he had every opportunity since then to clarify.

He just, didn't.

And yet,

_ "I'll make sure Dal-mi doesn't get hurt." _

Why?

It's enough to make her curious to the point where she'll hold back for now. To continue pretending that the Nam Do-san of her childhood was the same Nam Do-san who appeared to her like a scene out of a fairytale at her sister's party. 

It was her turn to regain control, to uncover the truth on her own terms.

For now, she'd simply text her grandmother a quick excuse claiming to work late and walk the long way back home, no rainbows in sight.

two. (then, an attempt)

Her first instinct to confront Ji-pyeong had been overridden by her curiousity.

It was easy enough to construct a narrative based on the fragments of Halmeoni and Ji-pyeong’s conversation she overheard.

A man, once a boy, seemingly indebted to a woman who gave him shelter when he was vulnerable, wrote the woman’s granddaughter letters as a part of a deal made between two parties for a mutual benefit. False words of friendship in exchange for a roof over his head and the occasional hot meal. She’s retained a basic understanding of contracts and reasonable consideration from a introductory business law course she took at university before dropping out, so it makes sense through a twisted, logical and practical lens.

What was beyond her comprehension, came after. 

The ruse Ji-pyeong insisted on sustaining, dragging Nam Do-san, an innocent bystander no matter what angle one approached the convoluted scheme from, into the middle of it. Ji-pyeong did everything to protect Dal-mi from the truth, without realizing that he was, in fact, the only person in this whole situation with the power to hurt her, effectively rendering his promise to her grandmother not to do so null.

She informs Do-san almost as soon as she discovers the truth behind his sudden appearance in her life. It didn’t make sense to maintain a charade with someone undeserving of getting mixed up in something set in motion long before he came into the picture.

Do-san is unbearably sweet as he tells her he didn’t mind. That driving in Ji-pyeong’s car with her after In-jae’s party felt like a reprieve after the multiple low blows he’d been dealt over the past few years. Meeting her for the first time, struck a chord deep within him.

He has trouble explaining it, but Dal-mi thinks she understands. 

It’s how she felt when she read Do-san- no, Ji-pyeong’s first letter to her. The feeling of being seen, admired. Not being lonely.

Cherished.

_I could love him_ , she thinks to herself, attempting to return his earnest smile, feelingimmeasurably guilty when she realized that she couldn’t reciprocate it.

_ I really could. _

So, Dal-mi tries.

She shows up at Samsan Tech’s office, the one she'll eventually pretend to find out is actually Ji-pyeong’s. Ji-pyeong, who’s always there, lingering in the background like an afterthought. 

How was she supposed to forget him if he never gave her the chance?

"What can be ordinary to me could feel extraordinary to someone else," she would say, almost looking at Ji-pyeong before she remembered, "Right?"

(He'd tell her later, as they curled up against one another on the couch while the credits to the movie they half paid attention to played out on his big screen, that those words meant everything to him. That simple things others took for granted, like playing go-stop during Chuseok with family, mundane tasks like eating a meal with someone you loved, he’d trade all the money he’d managed to acquire during his career for the chance to experience the . Wealth that would buy him everything except someone to share those times with.)

Ji-pyeong’s fond smile at her remarks doesn’t go unnoticed. She catches a glimpse out of her peripheary, blatantly obvious to anyone with eyes, including Do-san, who confirmed the same after he drove her home.

Dal-mi wasn’t sure how long could keep up with this facade before her resolve cracked. She just prayed she was strong enough to see it through until she got what she needed.

Whatever that may be.

three. (now, first time)

“It looks exactly the same,” Dal-mi murmurs to herself, stepping over the threshold at the entrance into the expansive space, Ji-pyeong close behind.

Technically, this wasn’t her first time at his place. She’d been there already, numerous times in fact. 

But, something about this visit in particular felt like a first.

Maybe it was the fidgety way Ji-pyeong drummed his fingers against the steering wheel during the drive back to his apartment from Sandbox, or how the tops of Dal-mi’s bottom teeth were stained berry red because of the frequency at which she chewed her bottom lip on the ride over. Two strong personalities reduced to a bundle of nerves over something they had done dozens of times before. 

Except, they had never really done  _this_ before. 

When he asked her if she wanted to sleep over at his apartment earlier today, post listening to her complaints over lunch regarding the long commute home after working until nearly midnight for the past few days, she figured he wasn’t thinking about the connotations behind his suggestion. Given the unceremonious manner in which he offered, it felt like Ji-pyeong, her mentor and friend, was simply doing a kindness for someone who needed a place to crash, not inviting his girlfriend to stay the night. 

She doesn’t even think it registered to him until they got in the elevator together, heading towards the parking garage hand in hand, if his sudden double take at their intertwined fingers was any indication. 

She finds a flowerpot on the windowsill, the same one she had brought over when his apartment was dubbed Samsan Tech’s office, “Wow, you took really good care of it.”

The plant stood at full height, vibrant green and much fuller than how she left it. Ji-pyeong had left the little sign encouraging success at its roots, writing slightly faded over time but still discernible. 

Ji-pyeong walked over with a glass of water, sipping as he sidled up beside her, pouring the remaining contents in his glass around the circumference of the foliage, “Some for me, and some for him.”

“Is that official advice from the plant doctor?”

“Trial and error,” he says, placing the glass on the windowsill, easing a string of stray thread from her shirt that had made its way into her hair, “Give and take.”

“Give and take, huh?”

Chest to chest, she can feel his heartbeat, strong and steady, pounding a rhythm that began to harmonize with her own. 

“You’ll see it in practice everywhere,” he teases, gently poking the side of her nose, “I  _gave_ you a place to spend the night...”

“And I’ll  _take_ your offer and accept it graciously.” She fires back, sticking her tongue out childishly. 

He laughs, placing a small, affectionate peck on her forehead, gesturing for her to follow him towards the bedroom, “There's extra clean towels hanging on the back of the bathroom door if you want to wash up.”

Right. A shower.

”Uh, I don’t know about you,” she starts, flustered, “But I didn’t exactly plan to end up back here tonight. Do you have anything I can borrow to sleep in?”

”I think I can help out with that.”

Wandering out of the bathroom in a fluffy white towel, she finds a pair of sweatpants she’ll definitely have to secure with a double knot around her waist and cuff a few folds to fit into, plus a blue t-shirt, the one she remembers him wearing during Demo Day with the word ‘Staff’ branded on the front in capital English letters laid out on Ji-pyeong’s bed. She changes quickly, folding her own clothes up and placing them on his dresser, packed and ready to go for when she left in the morning.

A knock on the door alerts her to Ji-pyeong’s presence.

“Can I come in?”

She calls out an affirmative, unwinding the towel from her head in order to allow her hair to air dry as much as possible before she falls asleep.

Dal-mi looks up to find Ji-pyeong in the middle of giving her an obvious once-over, one he didn’t even bother attempting to cover up.

And suddenly, she’s made very much aware of how she’s currently standing in the middle of his bedroom, donning clothes that belonged to him, clearly three sizes too big for her.

Despite her inexperience when it came to relationships and dating, she wasn’t oblivious to the stares she’d sometimes receive walking down the street on days when she decided to wear a dress that showed off her long legs instead of her typical slacks or jeans with a blouse combination. She watched enough romance movies and read an erotic novel here or there to know that when a man’s pupils dilated as he drank in a woman’s appearance, it meant that he was struggling to control himself.

Dal-mi knows, because as good as he was at masking his emotions with a sharp tongue and harsh tone, he was never good at hiding anything involving his feelings when it came to her. 

It excites her, knowing that he wants her, perhaps as much as she wants him.

Sometimes, she felt like she was in way too deep when it came to them. Fifteen years was a long time to invest in a relationship with a rocky start like their's. To feel desired was like holding a special type of power she thought she’d relinquished after discovering the truth.

But, the way Ji-pyeong is gazing at her now, exactly how she imagines herself staring back, it’s like a reclamation of the power she thought was once lost. 

He really did love her, she thinks, noting the way his gaze softened as she threw a lopsided smile in his direction. Because, despite the attention she got from the opposite sex in the past, none of them ever looked at her like this. Like something to be treasured.

She feels whole, without even realizing she may have been in pieces before.

A resounding alarm rings through the apartment, breaking the trance like spell they were under.

”That stupid AI,” Ji-pyeong curses, swiveling on his heels back towards the living room. He pauses momentarily, glancing back over his shoulder, “Do you feel like eating something?” 

“Maybe some warm milk?” She suggested, worried she wouldn’t be able to keep anything else down. 

He flashed her a thumbs up behind his back, “Got it!”

Combing through her wet, tangled hair with delicate fingers, Dal-mi trails behind Ji-pyeong, following the path towards the kitchen island, where she props herself on a cushy, remarkably unscathed bar stool as he heats milk over the stove, two mugs waiting patiently to be filled lined up on the marble counter.

”You could have just microwaved it.”

He shakes his head solemnly, “It’s not the same.”

She laughs, receiving a wink in response, opting to watch his back as he tended to the stovetop, simultaneously answering what she was sure were time zone differing resultant emails on his phone. Eventually, she remembers that her hair remained a mess, and goes back to work in an effort to reduce the straggles until they were at least manageable.

In the middle of a seemingly impossible knot, Dal-mi doesn't notice Ji-pyeong, who has shifted from his position at the stove to now currently occupy the bar stool adjacent to her, steaming mugs in tow.

"Can I?" Gesturing at the lock of hair she's still struggling with, standing up to get better access once she nods her approval.

He's so gentle with her. As if she might break. 

"It's never going to get loose if you don't try harder."

Affixing her with what he seems to think is an admonishing glare, appearing more adorable than serious, "You tried it your way, now let me try mine."

"At this rate, we might be sitting here all night," she jokes, settling on his concentrated face, brow furrowed in focus as he works his fingers through the tangles.

“I could live with that,” he admits, triumphantly leaning back as he successfully freed up the last strand of matted hair, “And now, you won’t have to.”

“I wouldn’t have minded either, you know.”

The smile that erupts in response is resounding - she’d repeat the cringe inducing one-liner a hundred times if it could elicit the same reaction.

She kisses him before she changes her mind. Then, kisses him again when she remembers she’s allowed to.

“This bar stool feels like it’s never been used.” She successfully breathes out, the discomfort from sitting on the hard leather overwhelming her desire to keep going. She's still reeling from how an initially innocent display of affection drew to a close with Ji-pyeong using his teeth to gently pull on her bottom lip and pry her mouth slightly open.

“I don’t think anyone’s sat there before you did.”

“Never?”

It’s a question that causes discomfort, a question she immediately wishes she could take back after it makes him stiffen, rubbing his neck as he defends himself, “I mean, it’s not like I have friends or family lining up to see me everyday.”

Unsure of how to reassure him that being lonely was nothing to be ashamed of, she simply reaches her arms out, encircling them around him as he tentatively steps into her embrace. 

“Don’t worry,” Dal-mi says resolutely, “I’ll make sure you get your money’s worth.”

“From all of the furniture here?”

“Hey,” she scolds him gently with a light smack to his shoulder, “Maybe,” smirking as she sweeps back the hair that had started to come back down to its natural state on his forehead, “If you’re lucky.”

They’re drinking the now tepid milk on Ji-pyeong’s much more comfortable couch when Dal-mi remembers why they were drawn out of his room in the first place. 

“Where did that alarm come from before?”

“Oh, that?” He turns towards the device on a coffee table situated in the middle of his living room, “Yeongshil,” he introduces them, as if that made things clearer.

“Yeongshil?”

“One of SH Venture’s biggest investments, if longevity counts for anything.”

“What does it do?”

“What doesn’t it do?” He throws back, slightly disgruntled, mostly fond, “Hey, Yeongshil, what’s the weather like today?”

“Here’s your fortune for today,” answers the deep, resounding baritone from the AI, “Today, the god of fate will send a gentle breeze into your peaceful life...”

“Looks like it’s decided to recycle now too.”

“Hm?” she murmurs incoherently, burying herself deeper against his side, the warmth emanating from his body coaxing her eyes to close.

“Never mind,” a whisper sounds against her ear, “Sleep.”

She wakes up Saturday morning in a bed that’s not her own for the first time. 

It still feels like home.

four. (then, choices)

Dal-mi prides herself for her instincts.

When she was younger, she knew how and when to initiate requests to her parents that aligned perfectly with their moods and the amount of money they were able and willing to part with at the time. She purposefully avoided In-jae when she was writing her exams, lest she ended up facing the brunt of her older sister’s brewing stress. If Halmeoni insisted that she didn’t need help that day at her shop, she would decide whether or not to show up anyway by gauging her grandmother’s tone and assessing the speed at which she completed her daily rituals before departing for the day.

So, when Dal-mi subconsciously senses a pair of eyes watching her as she naps away the aftermath of an adrenaline inducing business pitch, the first of her many as a CEO, somehow, for reasons she didn’t quite understand herself, she wasn’t entirely surprised after sitting up and finding the back of Han Ji-pyeong’s head as he surveyed the surrounding area.

He looks almost guilty when she catches him in the act.

And it’s not there where his confusing actions stop. 

Following a brief visit to their office after officially entering Sandbox, Do-san and her bump into Ji-pyeong in the hallway, who’s gaze flitters between the pair suspicously. 

"Were you two together?"

"Why," Do-san asks, swinging an arm around Dal-mi's shoulders, the latter barely catching Ji-pyeong's fist clench and eyes narrow before he quickly reverted back to his neutral state, "Are you jealous?"

”Jealous?” Ji-pyeong scoffs, a little exaggeratedly, “Don’t be ridiculous.”

”You seem kind of jealous.”

”Nam Do-san,” he responds, subtly shifting his weight to embolden his stance, an attempt at looking cold, she was sure, “I have absolutely no reason to feel jealous. At all.” He finishes matter-of-factedly, steel gaze slightly faltering as it landed on Dal-mi before it retreats to its guarded state.

Dal-mi would be lying if she said it didn’t hurt, but why? She’s not exactly sure.

"I mean," Do-san mentions offhandedly as Ji-pyeong walked away, "He didn't say no."

A few days later, when the time came to select a mentor for Samsan Tech’s forray into the start-up world, Dal-mi would follow Ji-pyeong up to the rooftop, unaware that choosing him would illicit such a strong reaction. 

He wasn’t exactly an unwilling participant. She’d seen him raise his hand when Director Yoon asked who was interested in mentoring Samsan Tech, with just as much enthusiasm as Alex from 2STO, who’s motivations were still a mystery to her. 

“Alex is a much better match for Samsan Tech than I could ever be."

"Yes," Dal-mi agrees easily. It’s not like it was a lie. "But I still choose you."

"You'll end up regretting it."

Except, once upon a time, Dal-mi had decided that she would live a life without regrets. One she could feel confident in saying was all her own.

"Don't worry," she declared confidently, "I've never regretted a single choice I've made in my life."

A spark of recognition ignited in his eyes. She wonders if he was thinking about the same letter he wrote to her so long ago. Would he even remember, given that it was all a rouse anyway?

Dal-mi places her hand in his, shakes, and prays that this isn't the choice that breaks a streak of nonexistent grievances with endless 'what-if's and 'I should have's.

five. (then, curiousity)

"Why are you being so nosy?"

The irritation in his tone grated at Dal-mi, who found herself growing exceedingly agitated. She'd been lied to for fifteen years, and yet here she was, waste bag in tow for the perpetrator himself. Given the circumstances, no one would blame her if she threw the bag right in Ji-pyeong's face, pursuing a long overdue confrontation she very much felt entitled to. Especially when he had the audacity of calling her nosy. Him of all people.

She wouldn’t let him get away with it. Instead she threw it all back at him, questioning his motives, even though she was well aware of them by now. Maintaining this ongoing, ridiculous facade, it appeared, was important enough that he felt a need to push back, make her hate him.

“You said it’s okay if you ask for it first.”

A muscle in Ji-pyeong’s face ticks, and Dal-mi knows she’s hit a nerve.

"So if I ask you, what will you do?"

She definitely didn't expect the intensity of his response. Or his unflinching stare. It was fixated on her, as if trying to assess every possible step she could take in the next second, every word that had a chance of leaving her lips and being articulated, calculating the probability behind all of the potential scenarios that could happen and which was most likely to occur.

She swallows unconsciously, the bravado she’d assumed prior to mustering up the courage to approach him slowly fizzling out.

"I'll help you to the best of my ability," Dal-mi manages to get out, "And I'll be the first to do it."

"Why?"

"Because," she finds herself saying, "I like how nosy you are."

And she realizes, she truly does. 

His relationship with her aside, Ji-pyeong was smart. He was undeniably harsh and staunch in his principles to a fault, but he was also the first one who gave it to Dal-mi straight. The only person who’s advice had actually rendered results, results that mattered and results that translated into major wins for not only Samsan Tech, but also for her as a CEO.

Later that night, her grandmother will ask, quite shamelessly, “Who would you choose, Nam Do-san now, or the Nam Do-san from fifteen years ago?”

The Nam Do-san of her past, or of her present? 

What if they weren’t the same person? What if he wasn’t even who she thought he was in the first place? If his name was Han Ji-pyeong, and indisputably not the one signed in neat handwriting at the end of letters that she held on to desperately for comfort, even as she transitioned from unconfident teenager to headstrong adult?

And did he really have a place in her future? The same future that she’d carved out so carefully, ensuring a tailored position for her first love awaited his presence in her story. A story she had meticolously planned out based on letters from her childhood and an imagination too creative for its own good. 

She doesn’t know.

So, she sleeps, after sending him a billion questions, avoiding the one she wants to ask the most.

six. (now, chuseok)

**Good boy** ❤️

Can you bring some more zucchini before coming over tonight?  
We ran out  
Don’t complain because I know you like it  
If you’re not going to help cook you can at least provide a monetary contribution  
16:04

Also, chocolate cake?  
The one that Halmeoni likes, from the bakery near the apartment  
16:05

Hey, question bomber  
16:07

Can’t you just send me a list instead  
16:08

Old habits die hard  
16:10

Oh and  
I left my pajamas on your side of the bed  
Can you pick those up too?  
16:11

You’re my favourite  
Love you  
16:12

I’ll see you soon  
16:20

seven. (then, epiphany)

This is the second time he’s watched her sleeping. 

Awakening when Ji-pyeong’s car rolls to a stop, she peers outside the darkened window to see an obscure shopfront with the word ‘Shoes’ scrawled simply across a sign above its awning. When she sees him exit, shopping bag in hand, she hurriedly resumes her previously slumbering state, real exhausation translating to her actually falling asleep once more as Ji-pyeong started the car and drove the remaining distance back home from Gapyeong. 

She doesn’t fail to notice, or feel, she corrects herself, before dozing off, the numerous glances he throws in her direction. The lowering of her seat until she’s leaning back comfortably, or the temperature of the car that gradually increases until the air resembles a warm blanket that has wrapped itself around her. 

“I’ll see you tomorrow,” Ji-pyeong calls out before climbing back into his car, insisting on accompanying her to her doorstep after they arrived. 

She could have been inside more than half an hour ago, but when he parked his car and didn’t rouse her awake, she chose to prolong the moment, too content to have it end just yet.

When he finally drives away, waiting until Dal-mi was safely inside her home prior to departing, she greets her grandmother briefly before excusing herself to her room, not bothering to wash her face or change her clothes, knowing she wouldn’t be able to sleep anytime soon.

It’s a slow awareness. Nothing like the sudden jolt of realization she thought would occur when she fell in love. 

Because, honestly, if this wasn’t love, she wasn’t sure what to call it. 

With Ji-pyeong, it was everything. 

The quiet way he supported her from behind, gestures she admittedly may not have noticed, had she been unaware of his real identity. Dal-mi managed to convice herself that the Do-san she had deemed her first love was a representation of a dream that once again deluded her into believing a lie so big, that this time it invented a person who didn’t actually exist.

But, Ji-pyeong did exist.

He was real, and it was so easy for her to believe that, even if his name was different, the Nam Do-san of her treasured letters, worn and creased after being poured over multiple times across the span of fifteen years, was very much the person she grew up wanting to meet. To fall in love with. 

And, Dal-mi thinks, she’s already halfway there. 

She wants to believe it so badly, that his words weren’t just the manifestation of her grandmother’s wishes to ease her loneliness, as she shows up at his office later on during the week, kalguksu in tow, revelling in the way he tries to hide a flattered smile from her as he accepts the gift.

There’s a part of her brain that repeats itself like a mantra, calling out to her as she positions herself at the edge of a cliff leading nowhere. 

_ He lied to you. He’s  _ still _ lying to you. _

She chooses to ignore it, and falls anyway.

eight. (then, what-ifs)

"I could really love you, you know?" Do-San says, radiating warmth as she leaned her head against his sturdy shoulder.

Sandbox’s rooftop had become a sanctuary of sorts throughout Samsan Tech’s rocky venture into the start-up world. It was the place where she revealed to Do-san that she knew who he was, or rather, who he wasn’t, their go-to rendezvous stop when the stress of building their business from the bottom up started to reach a breaking point and they needed a fresh slate, away from the error that wouldn't debug itself, or the investor that left them hanging after numerous meetings. 

"I know," Dal-Mi echoes quietly, "Me too."

In another life, she supposed that much was true. And really, it wouldn't be hard to fall in love with Do San. Who wouldn't? He was loyal to a fault, understood her like no one else had before in her life. Sweet, kind Do-San who fabricated a whole persona seperate from himself just for her sake. 

Except, it was too late. She'd mistakened it for companionship forged out of loneliness in the beginning. Her first love, setting the foundation for all the loves that came after it, but certainly not the one that would stay. 

Except,

_ Except,_

It did.

It stuck in ways impossible to get rid of, like a piece of gum that intertwined itself within your hair until it was too deep to pry out. Ji-Pyeong, was the stickiest piece of strawberry bubble gum coating what felt like her heart, her brain, her soul, her everything, until she couldn't differentiate between the loves that came before or after him.

It was pathetic, really.

Do-san glances at her, leaning back to stare at the starry backdrop of the night sky, "Alex offered me a job at 2STO in Silicon Valley. I can work on Noon-Gil and for Samsan Tech remotely."

"It sounds like a great opportunity," Dal-mi muses.

Do-san laughs halfheartedly at that nudging her with an elbow, "I was hoping you'd ask me to stay."

"And I wish you would," Dal-mi replied with a sad smile of her own, "But not like this. You're meant for something more than what waits for you here."

"What if I don't want it?"

"Then you come back," Dal-mi said reassuringly, "Still, not before you're certain of it. And you can't be certain of it until you try." 

He attempts a smile, "How can you be so sure about that? About everything?"

"A long time ago, someone told me that the present moment was a gift too. Andafter that, I stopped focusing on what couldn’t happen in the future and chose to live life the way I wanted to right now.”

“A life without regrets.”

“How did you know?”

“I read those letters too, remember?”

nine. (then, seonju)

Grabbing her grandmother's phone was a mistake, but perhaps being here was the bigger one. 

“Seo Dal-mi, what-” Ji-pyeong pauses, clearing his throat, adjusting the collar around his neck, “What are you doing here?”

“What about you then? Why are you reading things that aren’t addressed to you?”

”Oh, this,” he says, gesturing to the letter in his hand, “I saw it on the ground and picked it up. It looked like it was important so I was just trying to see if I could find out who it belonged to-”

“Stop,” she manages to get out, “Just, stop. I know it was you.”

A look of sheer terror at the act of being caught emerges on his face, "You knew," he stated disbelievingly, running a hand through disheveled hair, "How long?"

"Almost since the start."

"And you're not mad?"

Dal-mi was furious. At first.

Ji-pyeong's words made her come to terms with the fact that her anger had slowly transformed into hurt. Hurt that was apparent in the tears that threatened to shed when she realized just how badly affected she was by everything leading up to this moment.

She'd envisioned this confrontation, almost as much as she'd anticipated meeting the Nam Do-san of her dreams in the first place. There was so much she needed to say, so many curse words ready in her arsenal that she wanted to scream at him until her lungs shrivelled up and her face turned blue. Nowhere in her imagination did she factor in her current choked up state and inability to simply start speaking, let alone shout at the source of her insecurities and soured childhood.

Now, she hopes she can pull it together enough to get the answers that she needed to hear, the truth she was entitled to.

"I want to hear an explanation," she manages to get out, internally reprimanding herself when her voice started to shake, "For fifteen years, the words I clung onto turned out to be lies."

"They weren't all lies-"

Dal-mi holds a hand up to halt him from proceeding, "I don't know if we can stay happy like this forever," quoting one of his letters, "But if you stay with me, and always be with me like this, I think it's possible." 

“You wrote that didn’t you?”

“Yes, I remember.”

“Was any of it true? Did you care at all?”

“Dal-mi, I-”

“I mean, it had to be a lie, right? Because you didn’t stay. You said all of that, and you still left.”

She continues, on a roll, “Do you know what the worst part is? I can understand lying to a child to make her feel better,” appreciated it even, though she’d never admit that out loud, “But you had every opportunity after we met to tell me the truth. You just- you didn’t.” 

He takes a step towards her. She takes one instinctively back.

“I wanted to, for a long time it’s all I wanted to do.”

”Then why didn’t you?” She cries, “How hard is it to say ‘It’s me, Nam Do-san. I lied and I’m sorry’? Was it fun, stringing me along, pretending to be someone you weren’t?”

“Please, let me explain.” He pleads.

“You already did,” she replies sadly, “By not saying anything, you told me everything I needed to know.”

No protests. 

Say something, Dal-mi thinks. She would have taken anything at this point. She hoped and wished and yearned,

_Give me something I can forgive you for, because otherwise I’m no one but the same pathetic girl I was fifteen years ago holding out for someone who didn’t even exist_.

“I’m sorry.” 

And that’s it. 

That was the problem with dreams, she supposed. Very rarely did they manage to live up to the expectations they were held up against.

“Do you need a ride back to Seoul?”

He’ll confess his feelings for her not too long after that, causing her to stop short of lifting the spoon of noodles pre-mixed by him to her mouth, waiting for him to take it back.

“I like you.”

“I didn’t think I’d do something like this while eating noodles.”

“You don’t have to respond, this is my burden, not yours.”

When he doesn't retract, instead gazing at her as if it was how he wanted to all along, for the first time in her entire life, she has no idea what to do.

ten. (now, first date)

”I can’t believe this is happening right now,” Ji-pyeong complains, opening the door for Dal-mi leading outside of the fancy Italian restaurant in Cheongdam-dong that Sa-ha had recommended. Dal-mi, who wasn’t big on fine dining in the first place, was hesitant to pin such grand expectations on a high end restaurant as the setting for their first date story. A first date, which to Dal-mi, felt more like a formality than a huge milestone in their budding relationship.

”It’s not a big deal,” Dal-mi shrugs, pointing out, “It’s not like this is our first time hanging out one on one.”

”That was different,” he declares decisively, pulling out his phone to search for alternative options nearby them, all of which would probably, like the venue they just exited, not have any space for them anyway, glancing up at her as he perused, “And ‘hanging out’? Really?”

She’s not sure it was all that different. Besides the fact that she attempted to look a bit more polished than she usually would when meeting Ji-pyeong (okay, a lot more polished, if the borrowed wardrobe pieces from Sa-ha, a short, black dress with a dip in the back that was just deep enough to make it inappropriate for the office and a pair of heels that brought her mere centimetres away from Ji-pyeong’s height, in addition to her hair that she had taken the extra effort to tame into loose curls was anything to go by), it’s not like this was unusual from the other times they spent together as a pair.

Granted, she generally didn’t make it a habit to bolster her confidence with a self-administered pep talk and Halmeoni's repeated reassurances prior to their outings together before tonight. 

“The noodle stall near my place is probably still open,” she interrupts his incessant internet browsing, “Want to go there instead?”

”The noodle stall?”

”Sure,” she replies, “Why not?”

“For our first date?”

“At least we know the food will be good.”

“Yeah, okay,” Ji-pyeong accepts, pocketing his phone away, “Why not?” He reiterated, walking alongside her as they approach his car, swinging to her side quickly in order to open the passenger door before she can, “I don’t think we’ll manage to get in anywhere around here at this rate anyway.”

Dal-mi’s been in a car with Ji-pyeong alone more than she can count on both hands. But today, there’s a hint of underlying tension she’s having difficulty navigating. Their conversation ranges from Halmeoni's health, the latest start-up SH Venture Capital had taken under its wings, the growing team at Samsan Tech and the need to move out of Sandbox into a space of their own.

And then, there’s a lull. Not one, but several, where they’ll stop at a red light, or get stuck in the throes of Seoul weekend traffic, and Ji-pyeong, intending to give her a quick glance and a smile, will halt when he realizes Dal-mi was watching him all along. 

All too quickly, the moment will be over, with a honk from the car behind them, or the revving of previously stationary engines stirring them out of their stupor. 

They opt to park his car at Dal-mi’s house and make the quick walk over to their destination, taking advantage of the short distance and the unusually mild autumn evening. The woman running the stall greets them warmly upon their arrival, used to seeing their faces around. Her eyes screen the two, gauging the situation, the sides of her mouth curving upwadx when she observes the friendly distance Ji-pyeong and Dal-mi normally left between them had noticeably decreased, replaced with brief touches of a hand to the small of Dal-mi’s back, the motion of her picking off imaginary lint from Ji-pyeong’s coat.

Dal-mi wonders if the people who knew them, or even strangers walking past them that casted a casual glance their way, would perceive these minute, otherwise undetectable actions and assume they were a couple. If it was as obvious to them as it felt inherent to her, like pieces of a puzzle finally falling into place, the height of the climax in a really good movie, when the ‘will they won’t they’ narrative reached a resolution that kind of felt like destiny, fate, all the things she forced herself to chalk up to coincidence in the past. 

Heading towards their usual table for two, the one at the corner which allowed them to stay mostly shielded away from the other patrons, she removes her coat and places it on the chair in front of her, back towards Ji-pyeong as she settles in. The space heater, combined with what she refuses to acknowledge as nerves, made a thin sheen of sweat materialize on her forehead, one she was praying would cease to spread and cause further embarassment. 

“What?” She asks cluelessly, when Ji-pyeong remains standing, mouth slightly agape. 

“Your dress,” he stammers, immediately causing her cheeks to pinken when she realizes what he was referring to. She hurriedly makes a move to put her coat back on.

”Oh, right. I can’t believe I forgot-”

”No, don’t!” Ji-pyeong exclaims, startling Dal-mi as well as the couple next to them, “I just meant - it’s nice. Really nice.”

And if it was possible, she can physically feel her blush deepen. 

As they wait for their order, she takes in her surroundings, now aware of how out of place they probably appeared. Dal-mi wearing a dress that belonged at a cocktail party, and Ji-pyeong in one of the suits she was now fully accustomed to seeing him in. They probably looked all sorts of ridiculous in the midst of the humble seating area, folding chairs and tables filled with guests in casual fare. 

An older woman, sitting with her husband caught her eye as Dal-mi looks around, the woman smiling in her direction before she diverts her attention back to her elderly husband, laughing heartily at a story he was currently in the middle of telling with big gestures and overexaggerated facial expressions. 

“They look like they’re having fun.” He observes quietly.

“Yeah.” She responds wistfully.

Their orders arrive, and she’s not sure if its the familiarity of the location, or simply the way it was so easy for her to fall into banter with him, but they’re back to their normal selves, free of the tension ridded interactions that occurred earlier that night. 

“I’m having fun too.” She chimes eventually, referring back to his comment right before their food was placed on their table, following it with a large slurp of noodles before she looks up at him. 

He stares at her, a slow smile starting to form as his gaze drifted to her mouth. 

“Who knew noodles was all it would take to impress you.” Ji-pyeong jokes, softly wiping away the leftover sauce at the corner of her lip with his thumb, so naturally that it felt like a habit.

“Hey, Han Ji-pyeong,” she teases, giving him a playful glare, “I’m not a cheap date, don’t get used to this.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it.”

Hunger satiated and hearts light, Dal-mi donned her coat and waited for Ji-pyeong to settle the bill before they headed back to her house. 

“So,” Dal-mi trails, stepping over to the path leading back home after bidding the stall owner good night, “Where are we going next time?”

”Fried chicken?” 

”Hey,” Dal-mi snaps, ready to retort with a snarky comment about how the rich clearly remained rich due to their stinginess.

”In-jae told me it was your favourite.” Ji-pyeong claims defensively, holding his hands up in faux surrender. 

_ Ji-pyeong and In-jae? _

It shouldn't have come as a huge surprise, given the nature of their relationship. With Ji-pyeong moving up the leadership hierarchy at Sandbox, it would make sense that his interactions with the CEO of one of the accelerator's most successful start-ups would increase in fold.

Still, it bothered her. Just a bit. Enough to grill him a little further.

“You spoke to In-jae?” Dal-mi inquired, trying hard not to make it sound like an interrogation. They began to make their way across the neighborhood, side by side, a gap that could maybe fit half a person between them, Ji-pyeong turning to look towards her and flash an easy half smile.

”Strictly business.” Ji-pyeong proclaims reassuringly, suddenly holding out a hand to her.

He stalls. If he didn’t look so nervous, she would have burst out laughing.

Dal-mi captures Ji-pyeong’s hand in her own before he could think to pull it away, fitting snugly against his side, the space between them no longer existent, hiding her own smile upon Ji-pyeong’s tenative one widening into a full fledged grin. 

The night air had turned cool, the usual hazy warmth of a typical fall day giving way to crisp breezes and dark sky blanketing their surroundings. She’d paired Sa-ha’s dress with her favourite cozy wool coat and fine knit stockings, but Dal-mi can still feel the wind grazing past the fabric, causing her to shiver involuntarily every so often. Ji-pyeong’s hands are cold, as usual, but he’s grasped her hand between his own and tucked their intertwined fingers inside the pocket of his fall coat, shielding them from the chill and causing her to warm all over. She leans her head against his shoulder, as much as she can without making their gait awkward, closing her eyes and trusting him to guide her the rest of the way.

In quiet moments like these, she's grateful for the comforting silences just as much as the playful banter. And, in spite of the cold, she almost wishes the walk home would never end.

“But yeah,” Ji-pyeong eventually continues from where he left off, “Her company is in the middle of landing a huge deal with Hana Bank. You came up,” he says shrugging, disappointment apparent on his face when he realized they’d already arrived at the entrance to Dal-mi’s place, “No big deal.”

”Huh.” 

Dal-mi’s not sure what to think, if she’s being honest. Her rivalry with In-jae had substantially tempered itself, giving way to indifference on both sides. After the brief moment where Dal-mi protected her sister from a rogue worker affected by In-jae company’s operations, and finding out that In-jae revealed to Director Yoon the true origin of the girl who inspired Sandbox, an unspoken truce had been established between the pair. Neither of them antagonizing one another like they may have done in the past, but there were also no dramatic reunions or tearful reconciliations taking place anytime soon.

”She’s very fond of you, you know.”

”Are we thinking about the same person? Won In-jae?" Dal-mi asks incredulously, “The Won In-jae?”

”She’s still your sister,” he casually picks a leaf fragment out from her hair as his voice took on his serious, very professional 'I'm a mentor' cadence, “While I may not know much about familial bonds, I think she misses you.”

Dal-mi sighs, ”What am I supposed to say when you pull the orphan card?”

”Just promise me you'll think about it.”

”Okay, fine," she acquiesces, pausing for dramatic effect, "Yeah, just did. Don’t want to.”

”Hey.” Ji-pyeong chides, flicking her forehead lightly.

”Hey!”

”What?”

“Don’t do that!”

”This?” he prepares his finger to flick again, only to stop short and kiss the afflicted spot on her forehead instead.

”I think I have the right,” he responds cheekily, lingering. 

Dal-mi loops her arms around his neck, securing him in place. Then, she inches up, and he responds almost immediately, leaning in, closer, until his eyes flutter shut. And, when he least expects it, and against all of her instincts prodding her to reciprocate, she knocks her forehead against his, slightly harder than she’d meant for it to go down. 

“Hey!”

“If you want the right, you’ll have to earn it.” Dal-mi says wisely, sticking a tongue out as he winced, rubbing his now slightly reddened temple.

Already mildly concerned following the impact, she approaches him, ready to apologize and assess the injury herself, only for Ji-pyeong to quickly pull her against him and kiss her anyway, like they’d both wanted to begin with.

Would she ever get used to this? Dal-mi hopes she never does. She imagines it's what addicts felt like. The rush on impact, adrenaline pumping through her body as it progressed. Only Ji-pyeong could make a simple kiss feel like a ten kilometre marathon.

”It’s late,” he’s says as they part. Her arms remained steady, loosely around his back, his lightly holding her waist. 

“It is.”

"I should go.”

”You could stay?”

”Really?”

”Like you said, it’s late,” Dal-mi repeats, “Besides, who’s going to complain? Halmeoni? I’m pretty sure she likes you better than me sometimes anyway.”

”You’re seriously okay with it?”

”It’s not like it’s your first time staying here.”

”That was different.” He repeats, for the second time that night.

”How so?”

He kisses her again.

”Last time," he whispers, "I wouldn’t have been able to do that.”

Ji-pyeong stays the night. And for breakfast in the morning.

And when they both nervously tell her grandmother, clammy hands gripping each other under the dining table, that they're dating, she simply shrugs as if to say 'took you two long enough', and tells them to let go of one another long enough to get through at least a short meal together. 

eleven. (then, heart-to-heart)

Honestly, Dal-mi's nosiness never failed to surprise even herself.

Demo Day had come to a conclusion. Samsan Tech, against all odds, had found a way to come out victorious over In-jae Company. 

The only thing that was missing, a gaping hole in an otherwise perfect day, was him. So, she sought him out, moth to a flame, shamelessly, even if she had told him off in no uncertain terms not long ago. 

"Your assistant told me you took the day off."

"Yes, well," Ji-pyeong's tone faltered as he paused to clear his throat in a way she's sure he thought was very discreetly before continuing, "I'm out on a trip with some friends."

She would have scoffed had she not felt a pang of worry at the hoarseness of his throat and scratchy voice that he tried so hard not to let her hear. Dal-mi wasn't stupid. She could see right through his attempt at blowing her off. This time, as she knocked on the apartment door she'd grown to know all too well, she didn't let it phase her.

Ji-pyeong flinched almost impercetibly upon seeing who stood at the entrance to his apartment, looking wearier than he sounded on the phone. Almost, scared?

"Dal-mi," Ji-pyeong whispered out, his phone still attached to his ear so that Dal-mi heard him twice, once in real life, the other delayed through the speaker of her own, "What are you doing here?"

She hung up swiftly, prompting him to lower his phone, face flushing with embarrassment. 

"I brought you abalone porridge." Dal-mi said, inviting herself inside without a second glance back at Ji-pyeong, who she's sure by now is looking at her back in a daze. 

“You shouldn’t be here right now.”

“I know,” she says, taking a seat on his couch, not sure where the blatant confidence was coming from, “But here I am.”

A pause.

He sits down next to her, leaving a respectable amount of space between them. 

Now that she can see him up close, the tiredness is heavy and ostentaneously visible on his pale face. His eyes look sunken in, as if he hasn’t had a good night’s sleep in ages.

"I meant it, you know." A sudden proclamation rises out of his throat as he struggles to fight away a cough.

“What are you talking about?”

"What I said at the restaurant- that wasn't a lie."

Dal-mi startles, surprised at his acknowledgement of the confession, assuming he'd never bring it up again if the last few days were anything to base off of. She scrutinizes him, wondering if she stares long enough it would change his mind, if he would take it back and forget it ever happened. 

He doesn't.

There's something there that makes her want to believe him. That makes her want to reach out and take his temperature using a palm across his forehead, to confirm if he was actually sick or if this was all an elaborate act, a haphazard scheme to avoid her. She wanted to cradle his face in her hands, bury herself in his embrace until the pang in her heart stopped hurting so badly.

And, she thinks, as delirious and impossible as it sounds, he knows what she's thinking, and she feels like he wants it too. Because the way he's looking at her right now, the yearning in his eyes, how his gaze flickers almost imperceptibly to her lips before returning to rest on her face, it can't be fake. He's not that good of an actor.

An sharp intake of breath. His face is mere inches away from her own. All she has to do is lean in.

"I want to believe you," she says, sincerely meaning it, "But I don't. I can't. I just-" she sighs, frustrated, "I have no idea what to believe when it comes to you."

She leaves his place, equipped with more questions, and just one more answer than what she’d arrived with.

Her phone chimed, a notification that made her smile popping up.

** Do-san **

I think I'm going to do it  
18:14

No regrets, right?  
18:15

twelve. (then, departure)

"Are you going to tell him?"

Dal-mi looked over at Do-san, walking back to her after checking in his stowaway luggage at the counter. All that remained was a small carry-on borrowed from Sa-ha of all people, who had attempted to coolly pass off the exchange as her getting rid of a bag taking up useful space in her closet, but failed when the words 'I'll miss you' uncharacteristically slipped as she and the rest of the Samsan Tech bid Do-san farewell.

"Tell him what?" 

"Don't play dumb," Do-san admonishes playfully, "It doesn't suit you."

"No," Dal-mi started, "Maybe," she groaned, relenting, "I don't know."

"I think you should."

"Really?"

"Really."

Dal-mi felt her heart swell at his approval, knowing that even if she could never be in love with him, she truly loved Do-san and would always cherish him as one of the few good things that spurned from the letters of her past.

"You're a good guy, Nam Do-san."

"No," he responded, resting his luggage on it's hind wheels at the entrance to the departures gate "I'm not," sadly admitting, "Because even now, I'm hoping you'd forget about him and come with me to San Fransisco."

"It's not just about him, you know."

Halmeoni, her home, her dreams. Han Ji-pyeong was the tip of the iceberg anchoring her to Samsan Tech and South Korea. It wasn't a burden. Her dream wasn't someone else's to possess. And it certainly wasn't hers to abandon when it felt convenient.

Do-san nods understandingly, shrugging as if to say I tried. 

"Will you let me know when you've landed?"

"Only because you asked so nicely." 

Dal-mi gives him a friendly hug, a final farewell until he comes back. If he comes back. She's not sure what he's thinking at the moment, but she hopes it's not forever.

She's still standing at the gate, waving one last goodbye to Do-san, when she jolts at the sound of her name piercing through the otherwise low hum of travellers' quiet voices and the occasional shrill announcement over the loudspeaker.

"Dal-mi!" 

A frantic voice, attached to an even worse for wear looking Ji-pyeong calls out her name, eventually registering her shocked face and walking as fast he could towards her without airport security jumping him.

"Seo Dal-mi," Ji-pyeong managed to breathe out as he stopped in front of her, a thin sheen of sweat slightly matting the front of his hair. Uncharacteristically in disarray, the clothes he had on, one of the T-shirts he wore during the Sandbox hackathon with the word "Mentor' scrawled across it and a pair of jeans drastically different from his usual business formal fare, looked like they'd been slept in. 

"How did you even know I was here-"

"Don't go."

What?

"What?" She managed to blurt out, still in awe of his appearance. The man who usually looked so put together appeared to be falling apart at his seams. 

"Your grandmother, no - I mean, Halmeoni," Ji-pyeong stuttered out, blowing the hair out of his eyes as Dal-mi previously noticed he would do when he was flustered, "She said your flight was in an hour."

She what?

"Don't go. Please."

Dal-mi stills, wondering if now would be a good time to clarify her grandmother's little white lie, or if she'd let Ji-pyeong squirm just a tiny bit longer.

"Why not?"

"Because, Samsan Tech needs you."

"So?"

"Halmeoni needs you."

"And?"

"Just," he weaves a hand through his hair, frazzled, before straightening his back with resolve, "Don't go, okay?"

”I’m not.”

”Because honestly, I think it’s a huge mistake, I know things are weird between us right now, but I wish you’d consulted with me as a mentor at least once before making such a big decision-”

”Hey,” she latches onto Ji-pyeong’s wrist, forcing his drawn out monologue to a stop. He halts, looking down at the hand that grabbed him, then finally around Dal-mi herself, slowly registering the lack of luggage and travel necessities surrounding her.

”Where are your bags?”

”I’m not going anywhere.”

”What?”

”I’m staying.”

”But,” he runs the free hand not currently hanging limply in hers through his hair, frustration apparent, “Halmeoni said-”

”She lied,” she cuts him off, unable to resist tacking on, “You’re both really good at that, remember?”

And, that was that. He didn’t snap back, nor so much as utter a word in retaliation. Silently accepting whatever she threw at him. 

It only served to annoy her more. How she wished he would fight back, defend himself. Say something, anything, that would make it easy for her to forgive him. 

Except, it wouldn't matter. She already forgave him a long time ago.

Now, it was a matter of waiting to see if he was willing to fight for her too.

thirteen. (then, finally)

The universe, in all its might and grandeur, had apparently honed in on Dal-mi and made its sole purpose to keep putting in her situations she wanted no part of. 

Dal-mi had made it a mission to avoid Ji-pyeong where she could. Samsan Tech had reached a point where they didn’t need his help anymore, and as far as she was concerned it was as good a reason as any to cut off unnecessary contact. They were in a good position professionally, and if she could avoid him until the hurt she felt during their interactions ceased to exist, that’s exactly what she was going to do. For her sake, as well as her sanity.

She wasn’t even supposed to be here. Her stupid car decided to run out of gas while she went out to meet with a potential business partner right in the middle of the city she grew up in. And maybe it was sheer coincidence, as she certainly did not want to attribute this to fate, but the sudden urge to wander off in the direction of her grandmother’s old shop while she waited for the tow truck to arrive felt way too purposeful to pass off as a mere accident.

“Han Ji-pyeong.” She finds herself calling out involuntarily, as soon as she spots the familiar figure in front of the birdhouse she confronted him at awhile back.

”Dal-mi.” 

He’s frozen in his tracks, an envelope hanging almost comically from his hands, just short of being deposited in the birdhouse she’d come to loathe, “What are you doing here?”

“I could ask you the same thing.”

For a second, she feels like he might be the one to push back for once. She’d been difficult with him, rightly so, but he’d taken it in stride and not so much as flinched with each blow she’d delivered.

He doesn’t.

“Never mind, it doesn’t matter.” He offers instead, retreating from the birdhouse and approaching her, "Take it. It was for you anyway."

"Why didn't you just give it to me then, instead of coming all the way out here?” Dal-mi questioned him, her voice taking on a slight edge, “Or tell me that you wanted to talk?"

"Isn't it all the same anyway?"

"No, it's not," she can feel herself getting shrill, "It's not the same, nothing is the same! Don't you get it?"

His face tenses, and she can tell she’s touched a sore spot. Perhaps, one that he told himself time and time again made him somehow unworthy of receiving love, incapable of reciprocating and loving someone back.

"Then what's so different? A name? The person you thought was attached to it?" He demands, his tone remaining level, but the anger and frustration behind it apparent, the veins on his arms tightening as his fists clench, "I'm so sorry the perfect boy you thought you were in love with turned out to be a pathetic orphan without anyone to call his own."

She’s floored.

Did he think her to be so fickle? That she would cast him away based on circumstances out of his control, ones that had been handed to him so cruelly, so unjustly, and yet he was still able to rise out of thriving?

She took a breath. She would not implode. Not this time.

"That's not what I meant and you know it."

"Fine, then what do you mean, Seo Dal-mi?" He took a step forward, close enough that he had to look down in order to maintain eye contact, "What exactly do you want?"

“The truth.”

“I already told you everything.”

“You told me what you thought I wanted to hear. I want-” a sharp intake of breath, “No,” she corrects herself, “I need to know everything. ”

There was a small staircase, comprised of two steps, leading up into the shopfront of the store beside the bird house. She sat down on the bottom step, a silent invitation to the man across from her, if he chose to accept. 

This was it. Today was the day she either lost her first love to the past it didn’t live up to, or the day it would start anew with the person she knew he was now.

"Okay," Ji-pyeong conceded, sitting down next to her, "Everything, then. I'll tell you everything."

“I’m really busy.”

“I wouldn’t blame you if you walked away.”

He’s giving her a choice. Despite her trepidation, she goes with the option that scares her more.

The higher the risk, the better the payoff.

Then, he tells her everything.

From the first letter he wrote with Halmeoni's help, through all the ones in between that were his words and his words alone. Their first meeting at the networking party to now, sitting underneath the cherry blossom tree where it all began, the tree where he'd read over her letters in the past, soaking in the words of comfort and the warmth that they radiated. Comfort she had thought for so long was one-sided and rooted in a lie. 

“You know,” Ji-pyeong says, “I actually sat here to read a lot of the letters you sent.”

”Really?”

”Yeah.”

She pictures it in her head, the teenage, brooding Ji-pyeong who she ran into a handful of times when they were younger, reading her letters during a pleasant spring day, pensive, thoughtful while skimming through, as the cherry blossoms shed their petals in the background. 

"Everything I wrote was true," he admitted softly, sitting by her side, their legs barely a centimetre apart from touching, "You weren't the only one, you have to know that. Your words comforted me too."

She sniffles. In her defence, the wind is chillier than a usual fall day breeze, and the skirt she wore did little to wear off the cold.

"Dal-mi," Ji-pyeong starts concernedly, cupping her face in his hands, instinctively, "Are you okay?"

His fingers were surprisingly cool on her warm face, soothing the tears that surfaced as his retelling of their story finally came to light. Dal-mi forced herself to make eye contact, Ji-pyeong's eyes widening as he suddenly seemed to realize what he was doing. He started to let go of her apologetically, but she reached out with a hand to keep his in place, shaking her head slightly. 

"You're not mad?"

"Not anymore."

Silence. He's still holding on to her face. 

"So," 

"So."

"Now what?"

She doesn't know. Not for sure, especially not in this exact moment.

But, she can see it. Glimpses, flashes of a future that could be her's. Their's.

For now, she simply inches closer, hesitant at first, evaluating his reaction as it transformed from confusion to realization, a nervous gulp and a flash of desire, contradicting an almost terrified expression that was somehow still endearing to her.

Despite everything, despite it all, Dal-mi finds herself rising up to stand, Ji-pyeong following in her stead. She lifts her toes, him lowering his head ever so slightly, meeting her halfway. For once, they were on the same path, headfirst on a crash course straight towards one another, no detour in sight.

And, if there was any doubt in her mind about what she wanted or if this was actually it, it's erased with the way he kisses her back. No hesitation, no holding back.

Exactly the way she imagined kissing someone you loved felt like. 

It was a culmination of sorts. Of years, letters between two lonely people who found a friend in one another, missed opportunities, chance encounters orchestrated by whatever higher power decided this is how they would finally reunite.

Back at the beginning, where it all started.

A birdhouse beneath a cherry blossom tree, and the two individuals who's fates were bound together through its existence. 

There's a moment where they pull apart, breathless, neither willing to let go completely. Ji-pyeong rests his forehead against Dal-mi's briefly, leaning back to kiss her cheek, her temple, pausing just short of her lips, before murmuring softly, "You never answered my question."

_ Glimpses, flashes of the future. _

She'd finally get to know him, the fake Nam Do-san of her past, the very real Han Ji-pyeong now standing in front of her, kissing her, free from the guise he'd shrouded himself under for fifteen years, the one she wished she forced him out of as soon as she found out it existed.

_God, he was a good kisser,_ she thinks wistfully, choosing to respond to his question with a gentler kiss. Less fire than the one before it, equally sweet, grounding, bringing her a smidge closer to reality.

For so long she'd focused on her present, no longer the child who dreamt of meeting her first love, a disillusioned young woman to whom the now, the next five minutes, taking priority over the next five years.

Ji-pyeong made her want to think about the future again. 

They would probably find a new apartment that was all their own, closer to Halmeoni’s, with two rooms. Dal-mi knew her grandmother would never move in with them officially, but Dal-mi also knew that she wouldn't mind staying overnight after a particularly long family dinner if her own place wasn't too far.

Ji-pyeong would tell her in the future that he always wanted a family, but he realized later that every family didn't come in a one size fits all gift wrapped package, or the fact that he'd already found his in Dal-mi and her grandmother, eventually In-jae and their mother too.

She would definitely have to find a new mentor, because she can't imagine keeping things professional between them as business should be after he kissed her the way he just did.

(Their first interaction back at Sandbox after making things official would go something like this:

"I'm really busy, Mr. Han." Dal-mi would address him seriously, as Ji-pyeong not so discreetly brushed past her, purposely lingering.

"Mister?" Ji-pyeong would ask, borderline incredulous, raising a brow.

"Yes. At Sandbox, we aren't friends. You're my mentor." She would state assertively, her declaration followed by a twenty minute "coffee break", where no one could have told you where to find them. Except for the unlucky janitor who had the misfortune of walking into a seemingly vacant office with a frazzled looking couple and no coffee whatsoever to be found)

And, of course, they would date.

They would go on a lot of dates. To compensate for their lost time, but also to make up for the years where Dal-mi dismissed second dates before the first ones came to an end, knowing there was something out there better for her, someone who was meant for her. Dates that Ji-pyeong would also admit forgoing, in favour of devoting time towards building a life for himself that would prove his naysayers wrong.

They would visit museums and eat at fancy restaurants, but they would also watch cheesy romcoms and horror movies at the theatre, spend nights playing board games and falling asleep on the couch at Ji-pyeong's apartment, shielded in their own little bubble, away from the rest of the world.

Dal-mi has a feeling it won't stop there. That they'll make it to the finish line. That one day she'll wake up next to Ji-pyeong gazing at her lovingly and asking a question she's long been prepared to answer. Maybe not in her at the time barely conscious state, but ready all the same. With a bewildered look, a slight shove at catching her off guard, and a gentle kiss of affirmation, she would say yes.

It might take years, but she's nothing if not patient. Resilient. 

Equal parts luck as it was written in the stars, it felt like their stories were bound to meet in the middle whether they wanted them to or not.

And, she takes solace in that. Knowing that even if timing wasn't on their side, even if, by chance, it wasn't meant to happen now, the unspoken eventuality of them was there. Ever present, always lingering, a promise not unlike the one she swore to keep as she now smoothed the hair away from his face, revelling in the way his eyes fluttered shut, dimples arising, expression at peace.

He wouldn't have to be alone anymore.

She wouldn't let him.

It started with a letter, and it began again with a kiss.

And the rest of it:

"What happened to being busy?" Ji-pyeong asked, quirking a brow at her. Dal-mi kept her hands resting on his shoulders, Ji-pyeong's wrapped firmly around her waist.

"Does it look like I'd rather be anywhere else right now?" She teased lightly, absentmindedly stroking the corner of his mouth where some of her lip tint had smudged a patch of light red. 

"So," he said, hands tightening their grip ever so slightly, grinning as he stole another kiss before she could wipe the remnants of makeup away, "You lied."

Dal-mi laughed into the kiss, smiling when she felt Ji-pyeong's mouth curve upwards along with her's, murmuring a comeback against his lips before he made her forget, "I have a lot of catching up to do." 

_ As for the rest of it, _

She'd figure it out. 

No regrets.

fourteen. (now, forever)

She loved watching him wake up.

Not in a creepy, stalker type way. Definitely not like a stalker, at least. She could give herself that much credit.

Okay, so maybe it was a little odd, but she figured after knowing and dating Ji-pyeong for as long as she had, it was acceptable to a degree.

The first rays of morning light had begun to peak through the translucent curtains strung across their bedroom window, illuminating the space in a shimmery, dreamlike glow, casting shadows across the planes of his face, to the left of his nose, the underside of his jaw. Unable to resist, she traces along the dark edges, numbing out the endless responsibilities and tasks hanging over her head, forcing herself to focus on the scene unfolding around her. 

It was small, tranquil moments like these, where he wasn’t Director Han Ji-pyeong, the ruthless venture capitalist capable of ripping aspiring CEOs and start-ups apart (although, he had mellowed out just a tad since mentoring Samsan Tech to its current status), that she appreciated the most.

She loved everything about Ji-pyeong, including his no-nonsense business oriented persona, but she especially loved the side he showed so few people who were lucky enough to see it. Ji-pyeong, Dal-mi’s boyfriend, the one who would bring Halmeoni over for dinner and convince her to stay the night, happily giving up his spot on their bed in favour of the living room couch, the man who made her laugh, on purpose and by pure accident at his own expense, someone that was so used to keeping things to himself it took Dal-mi's constant prying to convince him it was okay to tell her how he honestly felt about something instead of bottling it up for himself. 

Dal-mi wonders often, what her life would be like had she not stumbled across Ji-pyeong and her grandmother’s conversation that day years ago. How different everything would b e had she not sought out answers to the story who’s beginning and middle craved a well deserved, satisfying end.

She’s startled out of her train of thought when she feels the pressure of his lips brushing against a fingertip. 

“Good morning,” comes her sheepish greeting, embarrased at being caught. Ji-pyeong gives her a soft smile, tilting his head slightly, telling her it was okay.

”How long have you been up?” he asks sweetly, laying a kiss on her cheek. So sweetly, that Dal-mi wants to laugh when she recalls their confrontation last night over her forgetting to contact a repairman who could fix their currently nonfunctional air conditioner.

Seoul summer had been exceptionally hot this year, with even typically cooler nights at their apartment resembling the humid, tight air that enveloped the surroundings of a sauna, and not in a good way. It was easier to get on each other’s nerves, say something that the one of them might conclude to be offensive, especially when the heat was oppresive to the point where every step taken felt akin to little fires bursting all over their bodies. Her forgetting to call a repairman spiralled into a tangent of blame, for one the lack of responsibility, for the other prolonged absences and a substantially unequal work-life balance.

They rarely fought like that, and when they did, it was almost always as a result of something else brewing in the backdrop. For Dal-mi, who barely slept a wink since being designated team lead on a new, intensive client recently taken on by Samsan Tech, it was the accumulation of a million little things on top of each other, causing a phone call she normally wouldn’t have to make slip her mind, especially since she was barely home to experience the reason for the call in the first place. For Ji-pyeong, it was the countless hours of training and preparation he was in the process of undergoing to take over President Yoon’s position at Sandbox, often resulting in a restless, halfhearted sleep at his office versus the comfort of their home. 

That was the thing though. Whenever their strong willed personalities inevitably clashed, they always came out the other end with a newfound appreciation and understanding for the other. It was like that when he gave her brusque and straightforward advice with regards to business decisons as her previous mentor, and it was the same when she now chastised him for being so guarded and defensive in front of her when there was really no longer a reason to be.

Ji-pyeong wraps a lazy arm around Dal-mi, causing her to curl into him instinctively, the skin of her shoulder resting easily over his bare chest, their discarded shirts likely strewn somewhere across the other end of the room, forgetten in a blurry haste of rushed kisses and whispered, hurried apologies last night. With no signs of residual conflict apparent, she’s not sure if she simply imagined the whole arguement out of boredom.

Then again, their track record did prove they were almost as good at fighting as they were at making up right after.

"If you had the chance to be with the person you love, just for one day, would you take it knowing that you'd never get it again?"

It slips out without warning, her thoughts spilling before she can prevent them from pouring out. Ji-pyeong looks at her blankly as the words registered, confusion taking over as he begins to process them in his bleary, barely awake state.

"What’s this, all of a sudden?"

"Just answer the question."

”Why?”

”Please?”

"Okay, okay!"

He considers it for a moment, brow furrowing in thought, looks at her, then speaks, "Yes," he nods, almost as if reassuring himself of his certainty, "Because a single day is still better than nothing. I'd rather have loved someone for real and lost it than to never experience it at all."

"So, what if the next time I spend the night I leave in the morning?"

"Then I'd be grateful that you bothered spending the night."

"And if I stayed forever?"

"Hey, what do you mean ‘spend the night’?” Ji-pyeong asks, suddenly flustered at the term ‘forever’, “You live here too."

”That’s not the point!”

”Fine,” he sighs, clearly not willing to engage in a petty argument this early on in the day, “I’d say,” he continues, reaching out to brush a stray tendril of her hair that had slipped out of the braid she kept it in while she slept.

He doesn’t pull his hand away. Instead, he trails a finger down the length of her face, across her collabone, slowly and feather light, as if he was carefully and deeply contemplating his next words before vocalizing them. 

”What?”

Ji-pyeong takes a breath, bracing himself for impact.

“I’d say,” he starts again, “That I’ve been ready for awhile now, and I just wanted to wait until you were too.”

Her heart takes a leap. Skips a beat. All the cliches and metaphors in the world suddenly made absolute and complete sense.

“Hey, Han Ji-pyeong,” she trails warily, “Is this a proposal?”

”No,” Ji-pyeong admits, “When I propose, you’ll know it.”

_When_ , Dal-mi thinks

Not if.

”One day."

She wonders aloud.

”Some day.”

He agrees.

fifteen. (then, the ending of a beginning)

_ Dear Dal-mi, _

_ A long time ago, your grandmother asked me to write to you because she thought you could use a friend. I look back now and realize that she knew I needed one too. _

_ What started off as a debt became something I looked forward to everyday. For a whole year, your letters were a reason for me to smile again, to continue to grit my teeth and make my way in a world that clearly wasn’t willing to show me any sympathy.  _

_ Without your words, the only thing I would have remembered from that spring would have been the fear of starting the rest of my life, the one I wasn’t ready for and would do anything to change so we could’ve met sooner. _

_ The right way, the way it should have been all along. _

_ I told you once that I was no longer going to fill moments of my life with regret. Since then and until now, I’ve lived feeling like I stayed true to that promise. _

_ Writing you those letters, falling in love with you, not one single thing. _

_ I think, somewhere else, in another world, if parallel universes exist, we were meant to happen. And the only thing I regret is not telling you everything sooner, so that the us in this one could get our chance too. _

_ Your friend, one last time, _

_ Han Ji-pyeong _

* * *

> _ “The time spent together seemed to me so granted that I did not notice its value. And after all, every moment was a gift, so I made a decision … No longer to fill moments of my life with regrets." _

**Author's Note:**

> letter at the end is the one hjp was going to drop off in the birdhouse before they had their first kiss lol
> 
> i lowkey want to write something in ji-pyeong’s POV depending on how the finale goes down this week. let’s seeee haha
> 
> also, another disclaimer, if this is wrought with errors rest assured i will eventually edit, i just knew if i didnt post it now i probably wouldnt ever


End file.
